The Kitchen
The kitchen window stands open, curtain breathing in the sea air. On the sill: muddy paw prints, exiting. They cross the counter, detour briefly through a dish of butter, and vanish out the window in the direction of the harbor.
On the table, a shopping list in Edith's hand: bread, marmalade, sardines (HIS), more string. No date. You are starting to notice when things have no date.
Through the window you spot a neighbor in the next garden β a small round woman in wellingtons, watching you with open interest over the wall. She waves a trowel. "You'll be the niece or nephew!" she calls. "Mrs. Pell. Your aunt was a treasure. Did her shopping every week, regular as anything, every Thβ" she coughs, "βevery day before Friday." She returns to her weeding at speed.